Fashionista to Passionista

When it comes to working out, the adage is “No Pain No Gain”. While it might not be necessary to be howling in agony (in fact that’s probably a really bad idea), certainly we need to move to, at the very least, discomfort. We need to work past our comfort zone in order to move to the next level.

An adage I try to live by is Work Hard, Rest Hard, Play Hard. Those six little words help me remember to keep balance in my life. In fact, that is the theme of the book I am writing. Having spent my life focusing almost exclusively on the Work Hard part of the phrase, remembering to include the other two takes a conscious effort on my part. I suspect that each of us probably focuses predominantly on one of these to the exclusion of the other two. Sure, it’s comfortable focusing on our natural strengths and inclinations, but are we growing? Not so much.

Which section do you default to? For myself, upon waking, it doesn’t take long for my “To do” list to start rolling around in my head. Work first, Play second (sadly, until I figured out the balance thing, I rarely got to the Play part and never got to the Rest part). Maybe for you, upon waking you start to think that you need to take some time to think and plan before you can actually move forward. Maybe you have all kinds of goals and plans. But maybe you’re spending so much time planning your life, you’re not actually living it. Or maybe once your eyes open, you start to think about all the fun stuff you can do today, the people you’re going to see. We’re all a mix of the three, but often we tend to default to one more than the others.

No Pain No Gain applies to all three areas of our lives. It’s not just about working out. Yes, in order to progress physically, we have to push ourselves farther, faster (cue the Six Million Dollar Man music…), lift more, extend the stretch, hold the pose, one more push-up. But let’s look at this philosophy as it applies to Work Hard, Rest Hard, Play Hard.

Work, in a broad definition, means anything you must do: earn a living, parent your kids, care for an elderly or sick relative, things of this nature. Some of these things may bring you great joy and happiness, and they may not feel like “work”, but if it’s something that must be done, we’ll call it work. In order to progress at work, we must learn new skills, open ourselves up to ideas, hone our people and communication skills. We all know the kind of employee who progresses: he or she is pro-active, always learning, company-minded, people-oriented. It probaby took effort to learn these skills through classes, reading, mentorship. The point is, that employee had to push past the comfort of “just doing enough” to move to the next level. The same goes for any areas where we “work”.

Resting is a lot harder (at least for me) than it looks. I don’t mean a good night’s sleep or grabbing forty winks. I’m talking about taking a rest from your life to assess. Where have you been and what did you learn from it? Where are you now? Where are you going? Where do you want to go? How will you get there? What matters to you? Life can be so demanding and busy that we just keep doing, doing, doing, with no real idea that we should have switched lanes quite some time ago, that what we’re currently doing isn’t really getting us where we want to go. Actually stopping can be very painful. It can make you feel unproductive, lazy, spoiled, selfish, and any other number of negative labels. For me, it was my brother’s death that finally forced me to stop. That was two years ago. When I finally stopped “doing” long enough to hear my inner self, she had plenty to say, and she was none too happy with me. Two years later, my life is heading in the direction I want it to. For now. Because that’s the beauty of Resting Hard. You take regular breaks to assess and think and regroup and correct. This is hard work. Not all of us easily knows who we are, or what we want to be when we grow up. It takes time, and it takes effort. And it can be very uncomfortable.

It sounds silly to say that it can be painful when we Play Hard. I don’t mean the kind of pain that comes from too many cocktails. When I use the term Play Hard, I mean finding that which brings us deep joy and peace, not superficial fun. It can be very uncomfortable going through spiritual exercises to determine what our soul really wants, what we’re here to offer to the world, what (not who) we love. Determining this can take us far outside our comfort zone. Maybe you were exposed to the horrors of the Congo, and you feel compelled to contribute to the solution in some way. This is painful. This is coming to terms with some ugly truths, being able to live with them, knowing you are doing what you can to help because being a part of the solution brings you peace. Or maybe you are a musician but you stopped playing a long time ago when life and work and kids took priority. And maybe now you want to feel that deep down glow you used to feel when a piece literally flowed out of you. You could see the beauty in the music. However, now your fingers don’t work like they used to, and scales are physically painful. And it’s going to be a little while deep in discomfort before you can recapture that beauty. Maybe you’re a writer (comma Sharron) who took a break for twenty years while real life intervened, and now you feel vaguely guilty sitting long enough to write a piece (especially when there is so much work to be done!), and not only that, the words just don’t flow the way they used to. You recognize you’re going to have to spend some time in discomfort while you relearn to rework the words. Playing Hard is finding that which makes you unique, that which you love, and bringing it forth into the world. Very uncomfortable stuff indeed.

In fact, I would argue that life is an ebb and flow of growth and maintenance at all times. Sadly, some of us can even move to “de-conditioning” - where it’s been so long since we’ve pushed ourselves beyond our comfort level that we are atrophying, physically, mentally, emotionally, or spiritually. Life, to me, is about pushing ourselves, sometimes a little, and sometimes a lot, then maintaining for a bit, and then pushing some more. I’m finally learning that applies to all areas of my life. My forced period of Resting Hard caused me to ask some hard questions, and now the joy I feel while Playing Hard is something I can’t imagine being without. It needn’t be a grand gesture. Simply taking the time to write this blog post brings me joy. The point is not for people to read it (although it’s lovely when you do). The point is for me to write it. The point is not to do something for joy because you receives accolades from others (although it’s nice when that happens). The point is to do the thing – fail, learn, try again, fail again, suck at it, learn a little more, stretch yourself. Be uncomfortable. The gain is worth the pain.

A few years back, some canny soul coined the term “TomKat”, and a fad was born. But no, it wasn’t a fad. Today, people are portmanteauing all over the place. Portmanteau is the very dignified term used to describe combining two words to form a new one. And so, it is in that spirit that I created the term fromance. Thinking myself quite clever to invent such a catchy new word, I set to work on this piece, only to discover that fromance has been in the urban dictionary for some time. Oh well, I did invent it. It’s just that a lot of people had thought of it already.

My curly hair has always been the bane of my existence. Its texture is such that my hair will respond to anything I do to it. Until there is one molecule of water vapour in the air, in which case, it first flips, bends, then coils into ringlets. Well, at least in the front. The sides and back, unfortunately, simply expand into a horror-inducing mess. Yes, small children shield their eyes as I pass, teenagers snicker, adults shoot pitiful glances my way. Sometimes, a kind soul will take pity on me and offer me a flat iron. Think Carrie’s Mom crossed with Ronald McDonald (I’m a redhead). It ain’t pretty.

There was even a point shortly after the Barbra Streisand movie Evergreen, where I actually permed my hair into tight coils. It was pretty – until it began to grow out and gave a terrifying new meaning to the word “flat top”. Back in the 80’s, creating a billowy cloud of curls meant mousse, and lots of it. I imagine when a man ran (or more likely, tried to run) his fingers through a moussed woman’s hair, it sounded like boots crunching on snow and there was probably screaming involved. You know when a frothy halo of curls moves as one entity, it’s helmut-hair hell.

Now why go to all this fuss to fight nature? Why not just embrace my curls/waves/frizz with abandon and be the real me? Why spend at least 30 mins each morning taming my unruly mess into some semblance of civility? Other than the fact that the real me resembles an Einstein who decided to go with Intense Copper, it’s because I love my hair. I love how it looks when I take the time to style it. I spend 30 mins with a blowdryer, three different round brushes, Velcro rollers, and a flat iron to achieve a “natural” look. I picture Picasso with one paintbrush in his mouth, another in his hand, as he studied his canvas, his muse, lost in his art. That’s me in my ensuite – I’m the Picasso of Porcelain. I appear to have six hands as I create my masterpiece, brushes flying, sweat beading on my brow from the heat of the dryer, Alice In Chains blasting on my iPod to pump me up, as I pump my hair up. It is a masterpiece. I can’t draw a straight line or sing a note, but damn it, I give good blow dryer. Good times.

But wait, did I not just say my hair was the bane of my existence? And now I am extolling its virtues? Isn’t that what legendary romances are made of? Passion, sometimes disguised as love, sometimes hate, but never apathy. Because here is the problem. After spending a hefty chunk of my morning coiffing up a headful of fabulous, I will see the beginnings of the dreaded curl forming moments after leaving the house. It’s like creating a turreted sandcastle only to have some brat come along and gleefully kick it to smithereens. Damn you, Mother Nature. Jealous  much?

Contrary to how I’m presenting myself, I’m no high-maintenance diva. More often than not, I will tuck my strands up under a ball cap to buzz around the neighbourhood. Long gone are the days when I applied a full face just to pick up the mail. I am very comfortable in my skin. I am content at this age and stage. My primary accessory these days is joy, and it goes with everything. But I’m just not ready to go hair-commando yet.

When I think of myself in the future, I believe there will come a time when I  chop off my shoulder-length locks and embrace my 50% grey. My morning routine will consist of finger combing my curls, and letting them dry where they may, in a curly, cute cap, framing the face of a woman who embraces where she has come from, and looks forward to where she is going. A time will come when I’ll want to do something else with those 30 minutes in the morning. Maybe I’ll be working with sea turtles in Costa Rica or whales on the St. Lawrence. A flat iron will not likely be part of the picture. I’m looking forward to that time, but it’s not here yet.

In a bar recently, I was participating in a trivia game – the kind where the questions are displayed on ceiling-mounted monitors and the players punch their answers into a console. I was winning, and I had $50 riding on the game. The last question flashed on the screen: Where is a woman’s hair the curliest? I grinned. Sadly, the answer is Fiji. I wasn’t even close.

And so my fromance continues. The effort, the love, the resentment, the disappointment, the unexpected storms, the joy. I’m embracing it all. For now.

You know, back in the day when I was working three jobs just to buy Kraft dinner, I didn’t really have time for joy. I didn’t really have the capacity or the head space to follow my bliss. (Whenever I use the expression “follow my bliss”, I feel I should have long, flowing hair, wear a long, flowing caftan, and spend my days making crafty shit out of pocket lint. I should be Aunt Meg from Twister – wasn’t she fabulous?) When you’re in survival mode, everything but what is absolutely necessary to survive takes a back seat.

That’s not to say I didn’t enjoy every moment with my children, Search and Destroy. They have always been a source of great love and joy, even during the really rough spots, and I don’t expect that will ever change. (Unless Destroy makes homemade chicken pot pie again without cleaning up after himself. Seriously, did you have to use every single pot in the house? And Search, if I have to go hunting for my black eyeliner one more time, you may find your bags on the porch.) The incredible joy a parent feels when your child tells you how much he or she loves you while trying to scam another $10 out of you, well, it just can’t be measured. But that’s not the kind of joy I’m talking about.

Last week, while off on vacation, I spent a couple of hours relaxing in the backyard with a novel and a glass of wine. I can honestly say the last time I did that was probably over 10 years ago. Ten years ago. How is it that something so simple could have been completely eliminated from my life? Interestingly, as I “find myself” again, I am remembering things I actually used to enjoy doing. Just managing a job, a home, and two kids on my own has kept me pretty darn busy, and my default program became one of putting others first, initially out of necessity but then, admittedly, out of habit. It takes head space to make effective changes, and when the rough times began to pass, I was happy to use that head space just to feel and experience relief. And then my brother died on my couch on August 6, 2008. His heart stopped in his sleep; no oxygen to the brain, and that was that.

Fast forward two years. I’d always heard that people say it takes two years to get over a significant loss. That always seemed long to me. Well, I can honestly say, that it’s been two years since Dale died, and I am finally – finally – starting to feel like myself. The survivor’s guilt is mostly gone (I don’t imagine it will ever disappear completely). The grief has mostly morphed into memories. I think deep down (subconsciously, because I don’t remember this as a cognitive thought), I have given myself permission to experience joy again. Or maybe it’s not a permission thing. Maybe my head and heart have healed enough that they can now work in tandem again.

Dale’s death was the catalyst to the personal journey I’ve been on the last two years. It’s the “something good” I take away from a dreadful experience. As I approach my 50th birthday, I feel as though I’ve turned a corner. I am happy. I am grateful to be alive (literally, because some people aren’t). I sincerely believe we are here on this planet to discover what brings us joy, that we should then bring that into the world to share with others, and that is our purpose and contribution. Sometimes joy is finding absolute pleasure and peace in the simple things (like reading  a novel outside on a beautiful summer day). Joy is not frivolous or unnecessary. Deep-down, feel-it-in-your-gut joy is what makes us human. I think it’s the best part of us.

Well, my vacation is done and it’s back to the office tomorrow. Today was spent putting it all together, except for a few hours in the late afternoon when my son and I went to see The Expandables and then grabbed some dinner. Other than that, I’ve been going over what I’ve learned about my challenges and my priorities. I have created a workable schedule with enough flexibility built in to account for real life. Murphy often resides in my life, as he does in everyone’s, and his law can bugger up my best laid plans. But no more! Here are a few things I learned from this week of research:

1. Life isn’t a smooth ride from point A to point B. I think at least one of the secrets to contentment is recognizing that shit happens, and it’s what we do with it that counts. Time and flexibility, and the ability to laugh at the ridiculousness of life, is important to keep frustration and despair at bay.

2. Routine is our friend. Yes, I know some of us really don’t like adhering to a schedule because we prefer to live in the moment. I can tell you for certain that sticking to a routine will increase productivity. I schedule in spontaneous time (really), and then I do what I like during that time. A schedule with adequate time for each task is necessary for effectiveness and efficiency.

3. I am tired of operating on adrenalin. My previous motto was “Don’t just do it, overdo it.” I have run on adrenalin most of my life. I don’t mean I procrastinated; I mean I was always pushing myself to do more, more, more in less, less, less time, creating a manufactured sense of urgency. This is probably how I ended up with high blood pressure when I have no lifestyle markers for it. Now, I feel most productive and in control when I have a reasonable number of things to do within a reasonable amount of time, with a little buffer time thrown in to handle Murphy’s visits. I am not super human, and I have nothing to prove to anyone.  No more rushing for me.

4. I will work hard, rest hard, play hard. In a nutshell, it means I will create and maintain balance in my life. I will continue to work towards progressing my corporate work and my creative work. I will continue to take solo time to reflect and restore. And I will make sure I continue to seek and experience joy in my life.

5. I will never be as young as I am right now. Deferring creativity or industry, putting off taking time for ourselves, or ignoring the importance of joy in our lives isn’t optimal. I went a lot of years without resting (taking time to myself simply to think and regroup) or playing (doing anything that delighted me). I can attest to the fact that adding these things has made a huge difference in my life. If you’re already living with this kind of balance, I applaud you, and I want to be just like you when I grow up.

Two years ago, I wasn’t writing, I didn’t have a social circle, and I had no real eye on the future. I was living day to day, and firmly entrenched in work mode. Change can happen overnight. Results can’t be achieved overnight, but we can start changing on the inside this very second.  I am looking forward to getting back to my life tomorrow morning with purpose and focus. A week very well spent.

And now to end the weekend in one of my favourite ways: watching Mad Men.